Somewhere in the Building

Creating a Home for an Interdisciplinary Creative Practice

Some weeks are Architect weeks. This was most definitely one of them.

By midweek I was deep in tags and categories, moving pieces of the Mayura site around as if I were rearranging rooms in a house still partially under construction. The hours slipped in that familiar way they do when I’m in Builder or Architect mode, head down, singular focus, networking structures across one another so they can scale into the future without collapsing under their own weight. I’d begun the week thinking I was refining the website to better hold offerings I plan to open in the coming weeks, and the task seemed straightforward enough.

Somewhere in the middle of linking posts and noodling around with categories and tags, I realized I was no longer just building virtual entry point for offerings. I was framing interior spaces for my own creative work … past work, current work, work not yet manifested but already present in outline. That realization surprised even me.

For as long as I’ve been holding a pencil, I’ve known my work doesn’t quite fit the usual rooms. I don’t have a traditional “gallery” body of work. I don’t work in a single medium. Things don’t slot neatly into one sequenced book. My creative process moves across songs and symbols, images and icons, philosophy and journaling systems, teaching and myth, behaving more like an ecosystem than a portfolio.

For years, the absence of a proper container to hold that movement made it nearly impossible to make the whole visible, let alone accessible. Any isolated piece (a painting, a class, a skill) could be shown somewhere, but any particular fragment never told the truth of the ecosystem it belonged to. When only fragments are visible, I find myself compressing, translating, trying to make something layered appear simple enough to stand on its own.

As the site’s internal architecture began to cohere this past week, something inside me shifted alongside it. The question beneath my work has often been whether making it visible is even possible, whether it could survive on the terms of the external world. But viability on those terms is a fragile metric that depends on trend, attention, validation, and applause. I’m learning, sometimes slowly, that I cannot put full energy behind any effort whose legitimacy depends on those measures.

“When the relationships between pieces, ideas, and time are visible, there is less need to overexplain or overprove and more room to invite others in to explore on their own terms”

What changed this week was a structural shift. The site stopped being a hypothetical platform for offerings and became capable of housing my creative ecosystem itself. When I saw that it can hold the work and its process, regardless of current or future offerings, something internal granted very long-awaited approval.

There is a particular safety in not having to curate to audience or expectations. When the relationships between pieces, ideas, and time are visible, there is less need to overexplain or overprove and more room to invite others in to explore on their own terms.

So, this moment feels less like expansion and more like consolidation. More like beds laid out and irrigation laid into soil. The Gardener rearranging to accommodate future growth and turning the work over to the Architect for a season. Builder seasons pass. Mystic seasons return. And sense-making will be tested against the natural unfolding of life.